How Time Passes
by Lou P.F
Summary: When Beaker wakes up, he's back in the body of the shy guinea pig he used to be way before he and Bunsen got together - or even on familiar terms. Many years into the future is a shy, quiet Beaker stuck wondering - and panicking - about the engagement ring on his finger. Bunsen/Beaker.


The first thing Beaker sees when he opens his eyes is Dr. Honeydew's worried face hovering above his. "Beakie," he says, sounding genuinely concerned, "are you alright?"

"Meep," Beaker says. It roughly translates to '_what the heck happened'_.

"The experiment backfired," Dr. Honeydew says, wringing his hands over and over again. "You were out for a good seven minutes and thirty-two seconds."

"Oh." Beaker sits up and begins to pat himself down. Well, his hair is there, and so is his nose. He seems to be roughly the same size, and all of his limbs remain the same. Alright, so he's fine. Good. His clothes are scorched and smoking, but that's a familiar sight by now, and can hardly be considered news. Beaker takes a look around, does a double take, and blurts, "Where are we?"

Dr. Honeydew stares at him, which honestly could mean anything. "Well – why, we're – we're at the lab, silly lad," he stutters. He's wringing his hands again.

This is most definitely not the lab. "Is it new?" he asks, looking around again as he pushes himself to his knees.

To his great surprise Dr. Honeydew rushes over to help him up, hands gentle on his elbows. "Beakie, heh…" He laughs a bit, but it sounds strained and nervous. "Wh – uh, no – we've had this one for some time, now. Don't you remember?" When Beaker shakes his head, Dr. Honeydew pales drastically. "What… what do you remember?"

Beaker fiddles with his fingers for a bit as he thinks. The last thing he remembers is entering Dr. Honeydew's lab, carrying a vial of something or another. He hadn't asked – sometimes you were better off not knowing. He explains this, but as he talks, Dr. Honeydew pales further.

"Which lab?" he whispers, voice trembling. "Where?"

"The Muppet Show," Beaker says, "the – the theater, ain't that right?"

"Oh," Dr. Honeydew breathes, collapsing into one of the nearby chairs and clapping his hands over his face. "Oh, no – no, no, no – "

"What?" Beaker asks, growing nervous at the doctor's rambling. It's never good for him when Dr. Honeydew fails one of his inventions. "What's wrong?"

Dr. Honeydew removes his hands from his face and looks at Beaker from across the room – and although he has no eyes, he still manages to look terrified. "Beakie," he whispers, "that was ages ago."

Oh. Yes, well, that explains. "Amnesia?" he asks, although he already knows the answer.

Dr. Honeydew nods, but he doesn't look at him, only at his own clenched hands. There's a long pause before either of them do anything. "…no," Dr. Honeydew finally says, "no, I… I won't stand for it. No." He stands up, straightening his back and putting on a determined mask. "I will get your memory back, Beakie – I – I'll fix this." Beaker watches as he begins to pace rapidly, crossing the floor and then turning to come back to the cabinets.

"There's no haste," he says, not wanting Dr. Honeydew to spend more resources than necessary on him. "I'm fine."

"You don't understand," Dr. Honeydew mutters, starting to pull vials of chemicals down from the shelves. "You can't – I can't – " He cuts himself off and stops, pressing one of the vials to his forehead. A few moments pass where he just breathes, short and sharp and heavy, and then he shakes his head. "Anyway. We'll fix this, don't worry."

In a completely different location and a completely different time, Beaker blinks up at the roof.

"Beaker," the familiar voice of Bunsen calls out, "what on Earth are you doing on the floor?"

"I – " Beaker begins.

"Oh, no matter," Bunsen cuts him off, "get up, come on, we don't have the whole day."

What? There'd been an explosion – he knows what they did wrong, he can fix it if the formula isn't completely ruined – "The experiment," he says, staggering to his knees, "how – "

He cuts himself off and gapes.

This is the Muppet Show's Muppet Labs. They're on air, according to the light on the camera a few feet in front of them. Bunsen looks younger. There is no experiment on the desk, only an old and poorly made device that isn't important because_ something isn't right._

He lets out a long, whining meep and sinks down into his shirt.

The moment they step out of the lab they're swarmed by a dozen concerned and babbling muppets. They must've heard the explosion, then – but why they're worried he cannot fathom. They never were before.

"No, no," Dr. Honeydew says, laughter in his voice as he tugs on Beaker's arm. "Everyone calm down, Beaker is fine – just a little lab malfunction – I'm taking him home now, Kermit, if that's alright?"

"Oh," Kermit says, blinking rapidly, "why, yes, uh, of course! Of course."

"Thank you." And with that the crowd splits, letting Dr. Honeydew pull Beaker after him through it. The moment they round the first corner, though, Dr. Honeydew slows down until they're walking side by side. He doesn't say anything, and he doesn't let go of Beaker's arm, but Beaker still swallows thickly.

This is _really fecking weird_.

He casts Dr. Honeydew a side-long glance. He looks… haunted, somehow, mouth pinched and eyebrows knitted together.

A pang of worry. Usually such expressions mean bad things for him. "Doctor Honeydew?" he asks, and Dr. Honeydew startles.

"Oh, Beaker, please call me Bunsen," he says, and the smile he gives Beaker is both the poorest smile he's ever seen and also the most genuine he's ever had directed at himself. "The times of Doctor and Assistant are far in the past."

"Oh," Beaker says, because he has no idea what else he can say. Dr. Honeydew returns to staring emptily at the air before them, and Beaker returns to keeping his mouth shut.

He does a marvelous job of it.

Even when Dr. Honeydew takes his hand.

Beaker helps Bunsen perform the experiment. It fails horribly, of course, but he's been through far worse by now, and only flinches a little when his hair pops off. It's not the first time that's happened.

Afterwards, just as they're finishing packing up, Beaker steels himself and taps Bunsen on the shoulder. "Hm?" Bunsen says, turning around to give Beaker a surprised look. "Oh, Beaker. What is it?"

Oh, what a marvelous question. Beaker wishes he could answer that himself. "I'm… from the future?"

It's hard to explain. The nervousness grows, and he instinctively goes to fiddle with the ring on his right hand – but there's no ring, obviously, and he defeatedly lets his hand fall.

Bunsen blinks. "The future?" he says, both wary and uncertain. "Why haven't you said anything before?"

Beaker stutters out some half-choked meeps. "Uh – experiment backfired," he manages to get out, "in future, and, uhm, now I'm back 'ere. Help?"

"An experiment, you say?" Bunsen repeats, the wariness forgotten in favor for a burst of eagerness. "How far into the future?"

Beaker thinks hard for a moment. "Some years," he says, "at least."

"Oh, marvelous!" he gasps, going for a notebook and a pen. Then he hesitates, and, casting a look over his shoulder, asks, "and we're still working together?"

Beaker blushes. Furiously. "I, uhm, guess."

"Huh," Bunsen says, "curious. I didn't think you'd last that long – oh well." He turns back to his notepad and continues to jot down something or another.

Beaker fidgets. He'd be way more comfortable knowing that _his_ Bunsen was working on a solution, but a Bunsen is a Bunsen nonetheless.

"Tell me about the experiment," Bunsen says, "and I'll see how much I can help." Then he leans over the notebook, gives Beaker a hard look, and says, "And after that, do tell me about the future."

Beaker has never been able to say no to Bunsen.

He nods.

The news that he and Dr. Honeydew are sharing an apartment are somehow not shocking, in between the pet names and the hand-holding and the worrying. Something _really strange _must've happened in the last few years.

"Right, uh," Dr. Honeydew says, unlocking the front door and shuffling into the living room. There's a tremble to his voice. "I… am going to make some… food."

"Wait," Beaker says, looking at his right hand in puzzlement. "This ring. Why do I have it?"

"Oh, that silly thing," Dr. Honeydew says, voice turned high-pitched and nervous. "That's – oh, nothing, it's just something Kermit bought to you from – from Spain! Yes, from Spain."

Beaker takes off the ring only to find that the skin underneath it is marked with a circular dent. He looks up at Dr. Honeydew, notes the similar dent on his right hand, and the pieces snap into place.

He lets out a long, high-pitched meep and turns beet red.

" – Beakie," Dr. Honeydew says, rushing over to him. He moves as if to take his hands, but seems to think better of it, and pulls back. "Beakie, please don't freak out – "

Beaker promptly freaks out.

Bunsen is staring at him.

Understandable.

Beaker is on the verge of tears.

Also understandable.

"Married? Are you _sure_?" Bunsen repeats, for perhaps the umpteenth time.

Beaker wants to answer him – wants to say that yes, they're married, live and learn – but he can't, if he opens his mouth the tears will flow over, and so he only nods shakily.

"…Beaker, are you crying?" Bunsen asks, sounding more surprised than worried, and _damn it all _that makes it _worse_ –

He nods again.

"Dear me," Bunsen mutters, "should I leave you alone?"

Well, most of all he wants a hug – but it's not from this Bunsen, it's from _his _Bunsen, and this isn't – this isn't –

"I'm fine," he whispers, because he must be. "Can I go home for today?"

"Oh, yes, yes," Bunsen says, gesturing dismissively with one hand and already going for his notes. "Go home, Beaker, I'll work on the solution for this."

Beaker is crying before he's out of the theater – and by the time he comes home to his apartment he has no more tears left. He curls up on his old couch, wraps himself in a blanket, and sits very still for a very long time.

He just doesn't get it. How the heck did they end up _married_? He and – and _Doctor Honeydew_? They are – fundamentally different and absolutely not good for each other –

"Beakie?" Dr. Honeydew asks, and his hand is so comforting on his shoulder – "Beakie, do you want me to leave?" It sounds like the prospect hurts more than anything he's ever experienced, and in Dr. Honeydew's shoulders is a tenseness that speaks of horror.

He doesn't – he doesn't _know_. He doesn't know this Dr. Honeydew, doesn't know this version of himself, doesn't know, doesn't _understand_, how could this happen –

"Tell me," he says, because he _wants _to understand, "'bout us. Please."

Dr. Honeydew hesitates, and for a moment Beaker thinks he's going to say no –

but then he nods.

After the clock on the wall chimes for midnight, Beaker stumbles out of his couch and goes for his bedroom. He sinks down onto the bed, burying his face in his hands, threading his fingers into his hair. The cold indifference from Bunsen is – everything he ever hated about their relationship, and such a sharp contrast to the warmth he shows nowadays – and it hurts – it _hurts –_

Beaker still remembers the first time Bunsen truly asked him if he was okay after an experiment. Things had taken a turn, then, when Bunsen began to rush for the first-aid kit whenever things went wrong, rather than just ushering Beaker out of the lab. It was the snowball that started the avalanche. One brief moment of caring, and then everything went downhill – uh, uphill.

Oh, please, please, _please_ let him be able to go back. He misses the ring on his finger, misses the warmth of Bunsen in their bed, misses the safety and security of his family – damn it all, he even misses some of the jagged scars running across his hands after the dozen experiments that failed.

He strips of his clothes, pops of his binder, and curls up underneath the comforter.

The bed is too small and too big at the same time, empty and cold and lonely, and Beaker clutches his pillow to his chest and focuses very hard on not crying.

It takes a long time before he falls asleep.

Beaker is sitting upright in the king-sized bed, comforter and blankets pooled around his waist. The moon shines in through the bedroom window, stumbling over his arms and pooling in the folds of his nightclothes. He's staring down at his lap, heart in his throat and driving shattered shards into his skin.

He feels horrible. Dr. Honeydew has changed in the few years separating the Muppet Show from Up Late with Miss Piggy. And so has Beaker – that much is obvious from the stories Dr. Honeydew has told him.

They're in love and happily married. When did it happen? _How _did it happen? Beaker doesn't understand – he supposes he must've been there to get what was going on inside his head. Or, well – must _remember _being there.

His mind is in a turmoil, _he's _in a turmoil, he doesn't _get it_, doesn't _fecking understand_, yet when Dr. Honeydew held his hand and worried over him some part of him _snapped_ – and he wants, _wants, __**wants**_.

Some part of him _aches_, it aches for the ease and the love and the security he and Dr. Honeydew obviously has, and he knows it'll take forever but he still wants and he _needs_.

A small, broken noise – familiar and strange, something he usually only hears from his own mouth - slips in through the bedroom door.

Beaker freezes.

Is – is he crying? Is Dr. Honeydew _crying_?

He moves almost without thinking about it, slipping out of the bed to shuffle into the living room. The lights are turned down, but not completely off, and Dr. Honeydew is curled up on the couch, bathed in shadows and hiding his face in his hands. His glasses are on the table before him, thrown carelessly onto the surface.

Beaker meeps, just to make a noise, and Dr. Honeydew startles and looks up. There are tearstains on his cheeks. "B – Beakie?" he asks. "What are you – "

"I, uhm," Beaker says, poking his index fingers together, "thebedistoofeckin'bigcouldyashareitwithme?" He very nearly stumbles over his words, but manages to not do so, and feels incredibly proud of himself.

Dr. Honeydew stares at him for a moment, then he sniffs and dries his tears. "Yes, of course," he whispers, "I – yes."

Beaker sleeps easily for the first time in a very long time, despite the fact that he's held in Dr. Honeydew's arms.

Beaker stares.

Beaker stares back.

"This is a bloody dream," he says.

The other Beaker nods. "I'm sleepin'."

"So am I," he says.

The other Beaker squints. "That scar," he says, pointing to his elbow, "I don't have that."

"Maybe yer younger than me?"

"I have feckin amnesia, I don't know how old I am."

Beaker blinks. "Amnesia?"

"Yeah, don't ye?"

"No, but I've traveled in time and entered the past – "

They both gasp loudly at the same time, jumping away from each other and slapping their hands up to cover their mouths. "Time travel!" they yelp, which, to any outsider, would've sounded something like '_meep mo!_'

The older Beaker makes gestures that are probably meant to be calming, but really only serves to rile the two of them more up. "Okay – okay, uhm, Bunsen – yer Bunsen – is workin' on a solution."

The younger Beaker lights up. "So is Dr. Honeydew! Yer Dr. Honeydew, I mean."

There's a moment of pause, then the older Beaker looks down at his feet. "How is he?"

"Sad," the younger Beaker says, shrugging and picking at his shirt. "Worried."

"He's a good man," older Beaker says in an attempt to comfort his younger counterpart. "It gets better."

The younger Beaker looks at him for some time, before then nodding once. "I… I know."

Beaker blinks up at the roof of his bedroom. For a brief moment there's the ghost of a weight beside him, an echo of a touch on his face, but then it's gone, and he's alone in the past.

Someone's head is resting on his chest, which would be problematic if he wasn't in the future.

Okay, so not amnesia. Good to know. Except for the fact that it isn't, and that he'll go back to his present at one point or another.

…he hasn't touched someone in ages.

He sits up in the bed. Dr. Honeydew slips off him – and he's apparently a heavy sleeper, for he only mumbles something and rolls over.

Beaker looks down at him, at the way the sunbeams fall across his face and hesitate in the corners of his mouth –

and he understands how he could fall in love with him. How he _will _fall in love with him? Oh, what does it matter – he understands his future self's reasons.

He gets out of bed. There are some things one shouldn't dwell on.

Beaker meets up with Bunsen later that day. "Bunsen?" he says, and Bunsen startles, most likely at the persistent use of his first name. "Can I talk to ye?"

"Well, of course, Beaker. What seems to be the problem?"

Beaker takes a 'discreet' look around, before ushering Bunsen into a side room. "Listen," he says, fiddling nervously again, "the me from this time will come back, and you _need to show him some feckin' respect_." This seems to throw Bunsen for a loop, as he lurches back as if slapped. "Well, I mean – not that yer not showing him respect _now_, but – he's frightened and scared and in a bad place. Yer not makin' it better."

He seems perplexed by this, mouth falling open and hands fluttering to his cheeks. "Oh – oh, Beaker, I'm sorry, I had no idea –"

"It's in the past for me," Beaker says, pushing impatiently at his hands, "and, well, for future ye, as well. I wasn't kiddin' when I said we married, we love each other a whole damned lot – but I didn't fall in love before ye changed."

"I – uhm, alright," Bunsen stutters, "I didn't – I didn't know – "

"Hush, you moran," Beaker says, slapping a hand over his mouth. He doesn't smile, because he can't, and at this point Bunsen isn't familiar enough to know his expressions – but he _is _smiling as well as he can. "I know ye didn't."

He walks out of the room, mostly because he's making Bunsen uncomfortable, but also partially because he's hurting himself. This Bunsen isn't his Bunsen. Why does he keep forgetting?

A few days pass. Dr. Honeydew cancels all the shows they've got running to focus purely on a cure. Beaker tells him, in stuttering voices, that it's not amnesia but only time travel, and Dr. Honeydew is so relieved that he nearly cries.

Beaker hovers by his shoulder, not used to not being the assistant slash guinea pig, unsure about what Dr. Honeydew expects from him and what he's supposed to do. Things explode around their ears, Dr. Honeydew walks around with constantly sooty glasses, a few things catch on fire – and yet he doesn't give up. For a few days he barely sleeps, instead opting to stay up late and scribbling notes on slips of paper.

It's touching. It really, truly is. Even if he isn't the Beaker that Dr. Honeydew is working so hard to get back, he's still _Beaker_, kind of the man that Dr. Honeydew wants, and it's _so good _to feel wanted.

His dreams collide with the older Beaker's, and it's… comforting, in a way, to know that one day he'll be the way he is. Not that there's that big of a difference, mind you, just big enough to matter.

Then, five days after he first arrived, clothes torn and memory blank, Dr. Honeydew pulls off his goggles and gives a weary sigh. "It's done," he mutters, pushing away from the table and gesturing down at the vial of… something… on the table. "This should bring you back to… your time. And bring my Beakie back to me."

Beaker stares blankly at the vial for a moment, then looks up at Dr. Honeydew with a nod. "I… thank you, Doctor Honeydew, I…"

"Oh, Beaker," Dr. Honeydew says, voice suddenly soft and warm. He takes a staggering step towards him and wraps his arms around his shoulders, holding him tight for a few moments before letting go. "Be safe, will you?"

Beaker doesn't have any reply beyond a small _meep_. Dr. Honeydew seems to understand, however, as he nods and takes a step back.

"Oh, well, have – have good luck, then, Beakie!"

And with that he offers him the vial, hands gentle in a way Beaker has never seen them be before.

He takes one last look at this Dr. Honeydew, knowing he'll see him again sometime in the future, and then downs the vial in one go.

Beaker blinks, drops the vial he's apparently holding, and is immediately engulfed in a desperate hug. "_Beakie_," the voice of Bunsen breathes. It's muffled by Beaker's shirt, but at this point he's gotten quite familiar with all the ways Bunsen can say his name. "Oh, Beakie, I thought I'd _lost you –_ "

Beaker doesn't give him an immediate reply, only holds on even tighter, glad to be back and glad to be home and glad to be _here_, Bunsen warm in his arms. He's trembling, either in fear or relief or muffled sorrow – and Beaker is trembling, too, tears welling up in his eyes again.

That night they lie curled up against each other, two parts of a whole, fitting less like puzzle pieces and more like broken hearts healing together. Beaker lies awake for some time, listening to Bunsen breathe and be alive and be _okay_. He stares at their joined hands, heart thudding sluggishly in his chest, and when he closes his eyes there are no dreams, only peaceful sleep.

Dr. Honeydew is staring at him. It's hard to decipher his expression – it's not the same as the other Dr. Honeydew, but it's close enough for him to understand that it's somewhat confused.

"Beaker?"

"Doctor Honeydew," Beaker greets, starting to fiddle with his tie out of pure nervousness. "Hi."

"Ah." Dr. Honeydew straightens, expression going solemn. "Beaker. You're back."

The nervous fiddling increases. "Y – yes."

Things don't really change. Not immediately. They don't talk about the fact that in a distant future they're married. They don't talk about what the other versions of them told them, either. But it's there. In every turn and every time their eyes meet, it's there – the need, the ache, the _want. _

The knowledge of what they could be.


End file.
